The Sentinels: Entity Uprising
by Anika Skywalker
Summary: This story takes place several years beyond the latest Star Wars literature. The Republic comes in contact with Earth, and they encounter a once dormant threat hidden in the galaxy. A ragtag, independent crew sets out to try to straighten things up.
1. Prologue

Star Wars: The Sentinels--Entity Uprising  
  
•This story is rated PG for some mild violence. Other than that, it's fairly clean.  
  
•"/ /" indicates italics, since I can't seem to get them to cooperate in the document.  
  
Prologue  
  
It has been a thousand years since the last Skywalker coursed the galaxy. The name has long since drifted into the history books and doesn't exist any longer in reality. Though the name is gone, the blood still flows through the Skywalker progeny. Some of the Solo line, for instant, has the blood. Descendants of Leia Skywalker and Han Solo will have Skywalker blood, more or less, granted.  
  
Like myself. I am Dakota Solo, known by most as "Dak." I was born on Earth. You will know why I am included here later on. For now, I will tell of the Intergalactic Alliance, a developing threat, and the sacrifice I myself made.  
  
About five hundred years ago, a New Republic science guild from a Corescant university left the galaxy to find where the Vong might have originated. The Yuuzhan Vong have long since been defeated and driven away. The only hint to their existence is what has been written in textbooks and works of fiction.  
  
This expedition was quite amateur, being no more than college students, from what I read. But their fame began with an accident. The navigator became intoxicated during a party and subconsciously led the expedition into deep space and into an unfamiliar galaxy. When he sobered, he discovered his folly and strongly encouraged the adolescent crew to turn around. At that moment, the bio-scanners acknowledged the existence of a single inhabited planet, the predominant sentient species being humans.  
  
Then it all began. The New Republic had discovered Earth.  
  
The expedition studied the planet from a distance and found that these humans were advanced, but not in the area of space travel. The group raced home to tell the news to the Senate.  
  
The Senate sent a diplomatic convoy to the small planet. The interesting thing was that the Earthlings could not speak Basic. Those poor souls were drunk with excitement at the arrival of these visitors that they brought in every professor of every language they could in an attempt to communicate with these other humans. It was finally discovered that Basic was equivalent to ancient Latin.  
  
The connection was made.  
  
The intergalactic friendship between these groups of humans, both from different parts of the universe, resulted in a New Republic-Earth alliance, simply named the Intergalactic Alliance. Then there was a great technological boom as the Republic shared technology. I believe those years must have been very exciting, as well as hectic.  
  
Everybody was required to learn Latin, which was renamed "Basic" for the sake of the Republic. Children began to learn Basic in preschool, so that it became a second language. English was pushed back to status as the second most widely spoken language on Earth.  
  
Colleges and universities grew, now having ten times more majors and courses than before. People went back to school to catch up with the rapidly changing and upgrading field of technology. Some subjects were cast away and sometimes replaced. Evolution was regarded now as a hypothesis. Earth was no longer the center of the universe.  
  
Beings began to move to Earth and mingle with the Earthlings. Earthlings began to move to the Republic galaxy. Some became Jedi. Some even became part of the Senate. Other planets in Earth's solar system were colonized. Everything was balancing out.  
  
It was only a few months ago when it was realized that the humans of the Milky Way galaxy weren't the only sentient life there. On the other side of that galaxy, a threat was found.  
  
A large group of Earth humans and Republic humans decided to explore the rest of the Milky Way. A station that was set up beyond Pluto prior to this was interested in this expedition and agreed to keep contact with them. All audio and visual feed was edited by the station and granted its own cable and local channel on Earth holo-television.  
  
Six months after the caravan of about thirty small transports set out, a tragedy happened. My only son had just turned eighteen. It was his birthday and he wanted to see if the caravan had encountered anything on that day. We turned the television to the channel and were surprised and disappointed to find that there were network difficulties. We excused it as technical problems.  
  
The next day we found that it was much more than "network difficulties." It was all over the news that day. Something or someone had attacked all thirty of the expedition transports. Communications with the caravan had been severed, and no one knows to this day if any of the people aboard are still alive. The last datastream that was able to make it through told the status of the ships. They were damaged beyond repair and dead in the water.  
  
The last video and audio feed to make it through showed what event had taken place. Three children of the crew had gotten hold of one of the cameras and were playing with it, such as setting it on a table and acting out scenes from holovids on it. They were able to get footage of these . . . creatures . . . as they invaded.  
  
The creatures were frightening, even to me. They were bipedal with a humanoid build, standing at about maybe seven feet tall. They had short fur of a dark granite gray, like the color of pencil lead. Their heads were like that of a jackal's: a long, slender snout filled with sharp teeth and fangs, and large pointed ears. Their eyes seemed to have a supernatural glow to them. Their bodies were muscular, their hands and feet studded with deadly-looking claws. Their tails were long and prehensile. They communicated with a series of growls and snarls that sounded similar to the snarls of a dog ripping into a slab of meat.  
  
Being military, I was able to see the initial slaughter, something that wasn't shown publicly on television. It made me, a military colonel, sick to my stomach. I sat back with a heavy heart and wondered if there was something, /anything/ I could do. What could I sacrifice? What could I give?  
  
The people of Earth gave these creatures, which were obviously sentient, the name "Anubis," named after the mythological Egyptian god of the same name and appearance. They pleaded with the Republic to help. The people of Earth were riddled with fear.  
  
The Republic seriously tried, sending their most heavily armed ships to the other side of the Milky Way to intercept the Anubis. They were all unsuccessful, their formations limping home, beaten and bloody, to lick their wounds and go out in another hopeless attempt. Nothing was working. The Anubis had something we didn't.  
  
A good friend of mine by the name of Jonathan Transon--or "Jack," as we had always called him--came up to me one day with an idea. He was organizing a crew of experienced intelligence operatives to filter out a weakness in the Anubis species. He was using his old battle cruiser, the /Sentinel/. He wanted me to be part of the team. I thought it was a crazy idea, another one of Jack's wild, insane dreams that he was known for. It disturbed me that he said it in all seriousness. I had never seen Jack, who was always a prankster and casual man, so serious. Something was up. I told him that I would get back to him on that.  
  
The first and only group of people that I consulted was my family. As the discussion got deeper, I began to realize it wasn't as good an idea as it seemed. My youngest, my daughter, was five years old, a tender age to loose a father. My oldest was eighteen, also a tender time, where the father and son did the most bonding before the son went off to college or further schooling.  
  
But it was my son Conner that submitted an idea. He looked up from his pondering and gave me one of those smiles that I recognized as the one he used when he wanted something. "Dad," he said, "why not send me?"  
  
I looked at him long and hard. "Son, aren't you a little young to be doing this?"  
  
"I can handle it."  
  
The truth was that I knew he could. Conner was a very talented mechanic, the best in his class. He was close to becoming manager of the business that he worked for. He was smart and knew how to keep his head clear and stay out of danger. But it was my paternal instincts that didn't want him to go.  
  
Was this the sacrifice I wanted to make? My son?  
  
Conner continued. "I won't be the youngest. Isn't Captain Transon bringing his sixteen year old daughter?"  
  
"Freyja is a prodigy," I argued, then realized that it wasn't a good excuse.  
  
"And that means. . . ?"  
  
"Conner, I'm not sure." I looked over at Karena, my wife, who was wanting me to keep fighting. I spoke to my son again. "The chances of you surviving this are low. The last thing I want is you getting killed. But something tells me that your battle will not be in vain."  
  
Karena's eyes bore into me. She knew I was giving in. Conner looked at me hopefully. I knew his young mind was deluded with the promise of thrill and adventure advertised by the military and all associated organizations. But something was telling me to let go.  
  
"I will tell Transon," I said, finalizing the argument.  
  
If looks were lasers, Karena would have killed me. Conner smiled and left the room, probably to go pack. Karena now had the disposition of a striking cobra. "How can you let him go like that, Dakota?" she asked hostily. Her use of my complete first name instead of the moniker indicated that she was displeased. "He's just a child!"  
  
"Kar," I said, sitting back in my lounge chair; "this is his decision. He's eighteen. He's allowed to do things without our consent now. We were fortunate that he asked our opinion. Children in the Republic are capable of running their own smuggling operations and able to rule a planet when they're only fifteen."  
  
"Enough with the Republic!" Karena exclaimed. All her descendants had been from Earth. "He is our son!"  
  
"He is an adult," I said coolly. "You wanted to be able to contribute to this tragedy and war, and our contribution is our son. Parents all around the world and in the Republic have submitted their progeny to this cause, and they did it knowing it was an honor. Why can't we consider it an honor that /our/ son is wanting to fight the Anubis?"  
  
Karena was quiet. Her eyes bore into me again with a look that could wither a Sith Lord. She inhaled deeply, then left the room. I knew the only way to convince her that we were doing the right thing was to wait until Conner came home with an Anubis head on a silver platter, so to say. I smirked at the thought. She would be beaming with pride and bragging and saying that sending him away was a good idea.  
  
The next day I contacted Jack. He was thrilled, but at the same time disappointed that I wasn't coming myself. I told him that Conner wouldn't disappoint him. That afternoon I gave my only son to Captain Jack Transon to join his team. He is gone now. Karena is silent. She is still against this decision, and probably will be for quite a while. We wonder if Conner will care to write, hoping that Jack won't keep him so busy that he won't have enough time to pick up a pen or boot up his computer.  
  
All Karena and I can do is wait and pray. 


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter One  
  
LOGIN Captain Jonathan Transon  
  
ID NUMBER 240962  
  
CLEARENCE CODE 370ALPHA1  
  
PROGRAM PROMPT JRNL/59641  
  
PASSCODE * * * * *  
  
Man, I hate these computers. Sorry, J'ai, you're the AI, not the computer. Oh, nevermind. A man of my age should know how to use this technology.  
  
We launched today. The guys had been placing bets on whether or not the /Sentinel/ would fly again. What I /didn't/ tell them was that ol' /Senty/ had a complete interior makeover. She looked the same on the outside, but she's as good as new on the inside. I will tell them I don't need their money when we get back. /If/ we get back.  
  
Right now I'm going to do a complete overview of my crew, just in case we get a place in the history books. I have too high of expectations. I will tell all I know of my crew: how I met them, what their current personality is, and maybe we'll see if it changes any over this period of time.  
  
First I'll start with Freyja, who has my personal affection. First off, she is genetically not my daughter! You can tell by her last name. She's Freyja Y'Zarii. I'm Jack Transon. I'll explain.  
  
I encountered Freyja after the yearly system race. My unit was so screwed up that I didn't think it'd race again. The mechs had no idea how to fix it. One of the competitors in the race had figured out how to send viruses through the taunt streams. I got one, and it wreaked havoc. It messed up the drive, detached all the wiring, got them all tied in knots, and melted some of the panels. Those crazy mechs were already making arrangements to send it to the scrap yard!  
  
Now, before I know it, this handsome little (well, maybe "little" is an understatement; she was quite tall) teenage girl saunters into the garage, pulls out a wrench and 'driver, and hops into the unit. Ten minutes later she gets out, and the unit's purrin' like a Togorian kit. Then the girl leaves.  
  
I tell ya, I was /impressed/. I turned to the mechs and asked who this girl was. They told me she was Freyja Y'Zarii, an orphan. Not much was known about her past, but she's been on her own for a long time. She avoids the homes and is most content moving from job to job. She worked in a factory down the street, but she also worked at this garage for extra cash. She was an electronics prodigy, able to fix anything that required a power source. The garage mechs were clearly jealous of her skill.  
  
I said, "That girl should be with a good family, not with big ugly brutes like you."  
  
"Then /you/ take her," they said.  
  
"What?! I can't take her! I'm forty years old, and I'm not even married! How am I supposed to care for her?"  
  
They shrugged and walked away. I stormed home in a huff.  
  
I couldn't sleep that night. All I could think about was that girl and her environment. I had a soft spot for kids. I had had my chance years ago, but I wasn't one for commitment. Freyja was a good-looking girl, and her casual associations could wind her up in emotional angst. Those mechs weren't wimpy guys, and they had no moral standards whatsoever. They could easily overpower her.  
  
As soon as dawn broke I headed to the garage. When in came into view, I saw her. She was sitting on a bench outside the office door, a duffle bag at her feet. She smiled at me. I felt weak. I could tell that she was a sweet girl just by looking at her. There was something about those big, sapphire blue eyes that touched me. I knew there was something special about her.  
  
But I wasn't going to appear to be a softy. I gave a quick snap of my wrist and a "C'mon." Freyja hustled to my side.  
  
"Thank you for letting me stay with you, Mr. Transon."  
  
"Yeah, yeah."  
  
We reached my apartment building and went to my quarters. The apartment across the hall was unoccupied, so I bought it for Freyja. I wasn't ready for kids of any age in my quarters. I moved some things that I had no further use for to her apartment.  
  
"Thank you again, Mr. Transon."  
  
"Yeah, no problem."  
  
She stayed in her quarters for the rest of the day, occasionally coming over to get something to eat. She was quiet and didn't bother me.  
  
The next morning I awoke to a knocking at the door. It was Freyja. She had a tray of muffins. I didn't think that gamines knew how to bake or cook. Of course, that "factory" she worked at could have been a food processing plant of some sort, for all I know.  
  
"I made breakfast, Mr. Transon."  
  
"Thanks."  
  
I hadn't had homemade breakfast for a long time. A snack from a vending machine was good enough for me. I liked having her around, though I didn't show it. I still put up my stiffy act.  
  
"Do you work someplace, Mr. Transon?"  
  
"Listen, girl, you want me to call you 'Miss Y'Zarii' all the time? You call me Jack." I felt that I had been too hard on her and she would run away in the middle of the night. I hadn't been around kids in a long time, being military for over twenty years. But she just smiled. She knew I was putting up an act.  
  
Over the next few months Freyja and I bonded. She made three meals a day for me and helped me with my work. She fixed every broken appliance in my apartment. I developed fatherly instincts. I began setting curfews and started keeping boys away from her. I watched everything she did, and I made her tell me everywhere she was going to go.  
  
She had a personality similar to my own. She was generally quiet, but when she got started talking, she was hard to stop. She also had wit and sarcasm, which made powerful weapons in her hands. But she always strived to be the group optimist. When we would go to the commissary, people would comment on my "beautiful daughter." I didn't know them well enough to correct them. Freyja would just latch onto my arm, and I would just smile.  
  
She /did/ seem like my daughter. I loved her very much. I was protective of her. I gave her the keycard to my apartment in case of emergencies. But sometimes at night she could come in and crash on the couch, usually because of a bad dream or a thunderstorm. A lot of the time it was because we had watched a scary holovid before going to bed.  
  
Soon I decided to let her move in. I didn't like her being there all alone, even if it was across the hall. She protested when I let her take my room and I would take the couch. After what seemed like an hour of arguing, she finally gave in. My bed now is the couch, and I'm loving it. As long as Freyja is happy. I think, when we get back, that I should buy a bigger apartment.  
  
For her sixteenth birthday, I bought her a speeder. She was overjoyed. "Now," I said, "the first time you get pulled over, I take it back."  
  
She rolled her eyes playfully and said something that nearly drove me to tears. "Thanks, Dad."  
  
Though it was a casual, playful statement, it touched me. This girl by the name of Freyja Y'Zarii was the closest thing I had to a daughter, also the closest thing I had to a family. I felt like she was a part of me, though our blood was different. My reply was, "Please call me that more often."  
  
Now when people label us as father and daughter, I don't correct them or have a desire to. I was able to get to an office and sign the forms that made me her legal guardian. She is officially my adopted daughter now. I still require her to keep her birth last name, in case something from her past shows up. Not that I'll give her away. She calls me "Dad" all the time now, and she sticks with me everywhere I go.  
  
Freyja was lucky she was skilled, otherwise I wouldn't have let her come along on this mission. We'll be in close quarters, and there'll be a lot more men about than usual. But my girl is smart. Luckily she isn't interested in boys. Maybe because I told her that they were all grouches like me. HA HA. Anyways. . . .  
  
I talked with Dak a couple days ago about this mission of ours. I know he thought I was crazy, as serious as I tried to be. He runs off to think about it, then the next day I find he's sending Conner instead. I was surprised. Conner is an excellent mechanic, but I was hoping for the navigational skills of Dakota Solo. No worries now; Conner will be as welcome.  
  
All these youngsters coming along makes me with I was still a draftee in the Orgrea wars. Conner is a typical teenage boy, with a little more maturity than most. Everything I expected, except that he is quiet and doesn't stop a job until it's done.  
  
I was in the hanger bay earlier today before the launch. I had assigned Conner to check up on the fighters. I was able to purchase three used fighters with money from my retirement account. Just kidding. They were new models that just came out about a year ago. They were Alpha-class Z-90 Raptor Skyfighters, a variant on the old Z-95 Headhunters. They were especially made for seeking and destroying, with high maneuverability. Their sensors and targeting computers are very sensitive, so I have to have Conner realign them from time to time for best results.  
  
I had Freyja reprogramming the computers and doing last minute system checks. I caught Conner staring at her every so often. Those mechs are all the same. . . . I casually walked up to him and put a hand on his shoulder. "Son," I said, "you keep looking at her like that and I'll cut your eyes out with my pocket knife."  
  
I heard Conner gulp. "Yes, sir," he said. From then on, when Freyja was nearby, he looked at the ground. He's a good kid. A mirror image of ol' Dak himself.  
  
Now I'll go to my first officer, Commander Mekal Syaoran. Mekal was an old flame of mine, but it didn't work out. We found we made better friends than beaus. Mekal, who was born in Japan, began classes of various forms of karate for non-Jedi in the Republic galaxy when she was promoted to Lieutenant Commander.  
  
I hadn't seen Meke for over a year. Freyja and I ran into her when we were visiting my old base on Corellia. She was retiring from her karate teaching and was going to settle down as a physics professor. That was when I caught her. "What's this I hear about you retiring?" I greeted.  
  
"Transon! You scoundrel! What are you doing here?"  
  
"I was giving Freyja a tour of the base."  
  
"Freyja? She one of your new girlfriends?"  
  
"Ha, ha, Syaoran. Mekal, meet Freyja Y'Zarii, my daughter. Freyja, meet Mekal Syaoran, an old friend of mine."  
  
"Daughter? Am I missing something?"  
  
All three of us sat down for dinner that day and got caught up on everything. I intentionally pointed the conversation in the direction of my idea of defeating the Anubis. "I'm still in need of some officers, and I know your skill. Would you like to come along?"  
  
Mekal frowned. "The last time I got myself caught up in one of your crazy ideas, I nearly got myself killed!"  
  
"I thought about that, and I'm sorry. If not you, got any recommendations?"  
  
Mekal was silent for a moment. She then brushed a lock of her black hair out of her face and picked up a pen. On a napkin she scrolled something and dictated it to me. "I know someone who would make a good security officer or just someone you can have do something dangerous. She's Major Loqr'yl, a Trianii that specializes in intrusions. I know she'll help." She last wrote the means of contacting Loqr'yl. She folded the napkin and handed it to me. She stood. "It was good to see you again, Jack, granted the circumstances. I hope we'll meet again. And it was a pleasure to meet you, Freyja." Mekal left.  
  
Freyja looked at me. "Why are you smiling like that, Dad?"  
  
"Oh, I know she'll come back begging to go. I know her too well."  
  
And my theory was right on the money.  
  
I had contacted Major Loqr'yl and she was delighted to come. Well, maybe "delighted" is too strong a word. She wasn't exactly the most enthusiastic Trianii I had ever met. I arranged to meet her the day before we launched. Freyja and I were making last minute checks on the /Sentinel/ when the Trianii came into the hanger. But she wasn't alone. She was accompanied by none other than Mekal Syaoran.  
  
"I can change my mind, can't I?" she asked.  
  
"Welcome back," I said. "Glad you've decided to join us. I've assigned you to be second in command. Sorry for throwing all this responsibility on you, but I'm sure you can handle it."  
  
Mekal smiled. "I /can/ handle it."  
  
I got to meet Loqr'yl. She had silvery white fur with black striping. Her eyes were a glossy lavender. I found that "Loq" was a very antisocial Trianii. She kept to herself and didn't talk much. She usually sported a deadpan expression that I couldn't read. But Mekal assured me that she was reliable.  
  
The rest of the crew I don't know in detail as the afore-mentioned people. The others were casual associations that had earned my trust in some way or another. They're almost all military; some I had to pull out of considering retirement. I also realized how young some of them are.  
  
Flight Lieutenant Sullivan "Sulley" Macon is one of the pilots, a skilled young man of about twenty-four. I had him as a student for a semester when I volunteered to teach summer flight classes five years back. He is talented in many areas, but you don't find personalities on résumés. Macon is one of the most apathetic people I have ever met, even more indifferent than that Trianii. I have never seen this kid smile, and his apparent philosophy is scary. "If it's dead, there's nothing you can do. If it's dying, let it die. If it's living, it has no business with you."  
  
Sulley's father was a general, and he must of done something in the past to damage or scar the kid's personality. Hopefully his being around the more light-hearted people like Freyja will soften him up. What Sulley Macon needs is a new outlook on life.  
  
Macon's personality clashes with that of the other pilot, Major Trent Zan-Aiden. Trent was another one of my students, three years younger than Sulley. He was born on Sunesis, an Outer Rim planet turned agricultural center. His father was born on Coruscant, but became interested in farming when he visited Earth. He moved to Sunesis at age eighteen to start a produce and livestock farm. There he got married to one of the local girls, whose father ran one of the major corporations on that planet, which helped him get started.  
  
Trent was the youngest of nine children. He was sent to the Jedi Academy to receive training, but at age sixteen he joined the military. He became a covert operative and skilled pilot. In the summer months, occasionally, he would go home to help his parents on their farm. I had always noticed the slightest trace of an accent in his voice, which was usually stronger when he just got back from home.  
  
His experiences of living on a farm and having a large family created some good qualities in him. He's a hard, consistent worker and very patient with most all people. He's very open and receptive to the needs and feelings of others. I see he has better potential than Macon.  
  
While I'm on the subject of farm-boys, I mustn't forget Dallas McKerracher. He's from the American South--Texas, I believe--and he has the accent to prove it. Dallas's mother was a Texas native, but his father was from Idaho. They raised horses, an animal that became valued in the Republic. But Dallas grew up on video games and simulators. I assigned him as weapons and tactical. Lieutenant McKerracher loves to shoot or detonate things for the sake of seeing them vaporize or explode. Basically, he's a redneck who likes to blow things up. J'ai, don't tell him I said that, or I will--how does Freyja put it?--have to reprogram you.  
  
Anyways, Dallas can befriend and charm almost anyone, but he's shy around girls. When Freyja first met him, she described him as "sweet." Whether or not that is a good thing, I do not know.  
  
No ship crew is complete without a trusty medical officer. I grew up with Lieutenant Colonel Diedrich Forsythe as a kid. We were good friends. I didn't need to ask twice if he wanted to come. Diedrich was in forensics and criminalistics, a crime scene investigator, before becoming a medic. He was the one that dealt with corpses . . . I forget what it's called exactly. That will be particularly useful when we encounter the cross-galaxy expedition.  
  
The interesting thing was Diedrich's little tag-along. She was a seventeen-year-old girl with short, mousy-brown hair and gray eyes that was known as Fallon Kamali. He called her his "medical assistant." I later found out--Diedrich confessed--that he had made some enemies in his CSI career and wanted a bodyguard. I always knew Diedrich was paranoid delusional, so it seemed normal. He was able to find a trained bodyguard that also had medical skills.  
  
Fallon Kamali is a incredible psychometric, I found. It has something to do with gleaning information from inanimate objects, but that's all I know about it. I also noticed that she never seemed to talk. The most communication she did was a note written on a piece of paper and shown to Diedrich. Diedrich later told me that she was traumatized as a youngster and wasn't able to speak afterwards. She doesn't like crowds or large groups of people, but she's deadly when provoked. Diedrich said that she was hot headed and easily angered. He did his best to keep her busy during social gatherings. Freyja found Fallon's ability "cool," but she said that the girl wasn't really a people-person.  
  
And last, but certainly not least, is Seth Dai'vade. Seth isn't military, but he was a scientist--biologist and geneticist. He was born in the Mars colony that was established shortly after Earth and the New Republic joined. Both his parents were scientists trying to find a way to encourage plant-life to grow on the planet. The Martian Canals had already been built, but there were no plants that could survive with the planet's thin and almost oxygen-less atmosphere.  
  
Seth grew up and became a scientist himself. After many years of study and experiment, he was able to genetically engineer a plant that could survive with little or no oxygen. He then, with a team of scientists, found a longitude where the climate was almost identical to one on earth where plant life could grow. Not long after that, he journeyed to several planets in the Republic galaxy and found plants that grew in climates similar to those on Mars. Because of Seth Dai'vade, Mars is now covered in plant life from lush forests to thin conifer woodland.  
  
Not long ago Seth became a Christian and felt God telling him to no longer be a full-time scientist, but rather a chaplain for military missions and during wars. He would still have his fame, but his converting would serve as a testimony, many people knowing and recognizing him. Christianity became the dominant religion, the Jedi finding that their powers didn't come from the "Force," but rather from God. There are still other religions in contempt, and those still wanting to believe in the Force, but their powers often fade quickly away.  
  
I am very sure that some of the unreligious crew will avoid him for quite away, but Seth has quite a magnetic personality. He also grows on you really quickly. He'll fit in as good as anyone else.  
  
I suppose I'm finished rambling now. Freyja is outside my quarters pressing the doorbell over and over again. I know it's her; she does that often when I change the codes on my door. If I give her long enough, she'll hack through the system and be in here in no time. But I'll let her in anyway.  
  
I'm done with this journal entry. Perfect timing. She's good at that. J'ai, archive it. I won't be adding anymore onto to, but I'll be accessing it again. Transon, out. 


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter Two  
  
The /Sentinel/ drifted lazily through space, now several light-years from earth. The hyperdrive often stalled, so Conner Solo got right to work on it, while Freyja Y'Zarii got the kinks out of the computers. She watched him more than she did her own work, critiquing his progress.  
  
"Those two cords are in the wrong ports," she said over the hum of machinery.  
  
Conner glanced up at her from the manhole that he was in. "Which ones?" he asked, looking over the wires again.  
  
"The red one and the blue one. The red goes in port 5A, and the blue goes in the one the red was in."  
  
"Then which one goes in port 7F?"  
  
"That's backup power." She frowned. "You not familiar with this type of hyperdrive?" she asked.  
  
"I guess not. I thought I had them in the right places. Once I get familiar with the basic wiring, I'll be all over it."  
  
"What model is it?"  
  
"Uhh . . . Alpha-Pleiades Seven Hyper-Cylinder. Goodness, I didn't think they made those anymore."  
  
"Watch what you say about my dad's ship. Have you working with that model before?"  
  
"On several occasions. You're really confusing me, Freyja."  
  
"Then why are you listening to me?"  
  
"I thought you would know better, being a computer person and all."  
  
"My dad says, 'If you're sure it's right, then it probably is.'"  
  
"So . . . it was right as it was?"  
  
"Yup. You're the mechanic on this ship. You should learn not to take advice on things from people you're not sure have experience in the field. If you have doubts, figure it out."  
  
"You're a strange girl, Freyja. You found out that I had Lieutenant McKerracher helping me that one day." Conner began to replace the cords in their proper ports.  
  
"And that's why the hyperdrive was stalling."  
  
"I guess I get it."  
  
"Take a break. Let's go to the mess hall and see if there's anything to eat."  
  
Conner set his tools down and hopped out of the manhole. He wiped the grease from his hands onto a towel. Freyja set down the datacard that she had been working from with the computers. They left the engine room, not saying a word to each other. There was a voice from behind them and they turned around. It was Dallas McKerracher. He caught up with them.  
  
"'Owdy, you two. What's up?" he inquired.  
  
Freyja was tying her naturally streaked hair back. "We're heading to the mess for a break."  
  
"Funny," Dallas said, "that's where I was 'eading. Say, Conner, are you really related to that 'An Solo we learn 'bout in grade school?"  
  
Conner nodded. "That's right. There's a little bit of the blood there."  
  
Dallas just grinned, and Freyja laughed. Conner frowned. "What?"  
  
"You're awfully humble about it," Freyja quipped.  
  
Conner shrugged and smirked. The three walked in to the mess hall, which was almost unoccupied. The food was a large supply of rations, since there were no cooks available. The rations had to last the trip to the Anubis territory and back, unless they were able to assimilate some supplies from the expedition team's transports. Freyja was the first to get her food. She spotted Seth Dai'vade in a corner and set her plate down at his table. The other men soon joined her.  
  
"You aren't the same Dr. Seth Dai'vade I've seen on HTV all the time, are you?" Dallas asked. Freyja snickered.  
  
"Don't answer that," Conner said, shoveling a fork-full of meatloaf into his mouth. Seth gave them a puzzled look.  
  
Freyja took a bite of her mashed potatoes, which was mixed in thick Corellian gravy, and grimaced. "This didn't cook all the way," she said, standing up and lifting her plate from the table. "I'm gonna go nuke it again." She walked towards the culinary outlet in the galley.  
  
Dallas turned to Seth again. "So, what kind of scientist are you, Rev'rend? Botanist?"  
  
Seth smirked. "No, guess again. I have doctorates in two areas."  
  
"Paleobotanist? It had something to do with plants."  
  
"You're getting colder."  
  
"Paleontologist?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Archaeologist?"  
  
"I've had some classes, but that's not my main area."  
  
"Nuclear Engineer?"  
  
"Yeah, right."  
  
"Quantum Physicist?"  
  
"Keep guessing."  
  
"Astrophysicist?"  
  
"Colder."  
  
"Genealogist?"  
  
"Even colder."  
  
"Oceanographer?"  
  
"Not quite."  
  
"Etymologist?"  
  
"Antarctica."  
  
"Biologist?"  
  
"That's one."  
  
"Zoologist? Am I on the right track?"  
  
"Right track, wrong train."  
  
"Wait! You had something to do with genetics! Geneticist?"  
  
"You got it. My area is mainly genetic engineering. I'm a biologist and a geneticist."  
  
Dallas sighed in satisfaction and leaned back in his chair. Freyja came back to the table. "Anything happen while I was gone? That microwave needs to be looked at, Conner. I think it's starting to short circuit."  
  
Conner furrowed his brow and looked over at the appliance in the galley. He heaved a sigh and ran his fingers through his blond hair. "This ol' bucket is falling apart, if you want my say."  
  
Freyja frowned and glared at him, but he didn't look at her. "Okay," she admitted, "so it /does/ need some looking at. Dad only bought used things. He didn't want to get anything too expensive. It still needs a lot of tweaking."  
  
"Keywords: /a lot/." He winced when Freyja shot him a look.  
  
She set her fork down. "I'll have you know--"  
  
She was cut off by Mekal Syaoran running into the galley. "Hey, troops. Transon wants you all on the command deck. Especially you, McKerracher. I think we ran into something."  
  
The four at the table looked at each other simultaneously and got up in unison. They left the mess hall and jogged the corridors leading to the bridge, Mekal far ahead of them. The ship jolted. The three men stumbled, but Freyja was knocked off her feet. The others pulled her to her feet and they all quickened their pace.  
  
The rest of the small crew was on the command deck. Dallas groaned and put a hand on his head as he stared out the viewscreen. "Oh, man! I thought we /literally/ ran into somethin'!"  
  
"Lieutenant!" Transon snapped. "To your post! We might need you."  
  
"Right, Cap," Dallas responded, dashing to his control panel. "Torpedoes armed 'n' ready, sir. Canons loaded."  
  
"Hold up! We don't even know what we're blowing up! You just watch your trigger-finger."  
  
"Blast."  
  
The ship jolted again with another impact from something. "Mekal, get the scanners going," Transon ordered. "Macon." The dark-haired young man at one of the front control panels looked up at Transon, his cold expression unreadable. "Macon, maneuver the ship so we can get this thing on the viewscreen." Sulley Macon turned back to his station.  
  
"Sir," Mekal said, "it's a spacecraft. Maybe about fifty meters long. The signature scanners identify it as Anubis craft. They've targeted our engines twice, but it hasn't been able to get through the shields."  
  
"L-let's get outta here," Freyja whispered loudly, slipping behind Transon.  
  
"I've got it within view, sir," Macon said.  
  
"Put it on screen," Transon said.  
  
The small craft came into view. It was visibly ugly and not the most pleasant thing to look at, piping of some kind wrapped around it, with spikes sticking out here and there. Its twisted, disfigured structure suggested that it couldn't be of artifical material.  
  
Freyja wrinkled her nose. "Could the Anubis 'grow' their spacecraft like the Vong did?" she asked.  
  
"They could have been allies with the Vong, for all we know," Transon said, studying the ship. "It must be an outpost. It's too far from where the expedition stopped to be a starfighter. Unless they're planning on taking over earth. But then there'd be more of them."  
  
Suddenly a golden burst came from the Anubis ship and sped towards the Sentinel.  
  
"They didn't fire /that/ before!" Mekal said.  
  
"More power to shields!" Transon said to Trent Zan-Aiden, who was seated at a console next to Mekal.  
  
Unfortunately, the peculiar blast penetrated the shields and hit the hull. The ship jolted again. Trent looked up from his controls. "Sir . . . it's . . . it's eating away at the hull! We're losing oxygen and cabin pressure in section A5."  
  
"Seal off that area, Zan-Aiden. We'll have to get a crew down there for repairs. Mekal, try hailing them."  
  
Mekal gave him a shocked and surprised look. "Are you crazy?! Hail them?!"  
  
"If you can't beat 'em, get on their good side."  
  
"Very effective strategy, Jack," Mekal said sarcastically, tapping at her console. She frowned. "No response. What a surprise."  
  
The outpost fired again, this time with its regular gray-colored laser, aimed at the engines. The shields again prevented it from reaching the hull.  
  
"Permission to blow 'em up, sir?" Dallas asked with a wide grin.  
  
"Fire when ready, Lieutenant."  
  
"Yee-ha!" Dallas whooped. "Eat proton torps, ya scum!"  
  
Two missiles launched from the /Sentinel/ and detonated the Anubis vessel. It exploded in an array of glowing shrapnel and sparks, spreading in all directions. When it faded away, the only object remaining was a small, round, brown object. It turned, then thrusters on its underside propelled it towards the /Sentinel/.  
  
Freyja panicked and dug her nails into the headrest of Transon's nerf-hide seat. "It's coming here!" she squeaked. "Shoot it! Go! Do something!"  
  
"Dallas. . . ." Transon began.  
  
"I'd love to, sir, but it's not showing up on my targeting computer! I'll try to shoot, but I won't get anything."  
  
"Do what you can."  
  
Dallas fired the main guns, but they missed the object by several meters. The object went out of view from those on the command deck. There was a /thud/ as it hit the hull.  
  
"It's attached itself to the hull," Trent said. "It's covering the hole that that golden blast made." He shrugged.  
  
"I'm not gettin' this," Dallas said, running a hand through his dark hair.  
  
"That's odd," Freyja commented. "They trying to repair the damage?"  
  
"I doubt it," Transon mused. "It might be a tracer of some kind. Dai'vade, that thing looks organic. Try to get some samples from it to study. Loqr'yl, McKerracher: you two go with him. The spacesuits are in the cargo hold. Conner, you get your things ready to patch up that hole. Macon, get your Raptor ready for shooting that thing off when repairs are done."  
  
There was a chorus of /yes, sir/s and the throng split up. Seth, Dallas, and the Trianii Loqr'yl headed to the cargo hold to fetch the bulky spacesuits. The suits had oxygen chambers and were made of a thick, metallic material that insulated the wearer from the freezing temperature of space and protected them from the radiation of sun-stars. There were comm units in the headpiece for communication between suits; they were also monitored in case of emergency.  
  
The three fitted into their suits and went to where the portion of the hallway had been sealed off. They erected a force field outside the blastdoor before opening it. The sealed off hallway was maybe five meters long. Seth stepped forward first. "Looks like the grav-well generators are still working," he observed.  
  
"Yeah, real bummer," Dallas said. "I was really lookin' forward to a space-walk."  
  
"You know, we could always just push you out into space."  
  
"Now, now, Rev'rend, that's no way to talk."  
  
Seth walked slowly towards the hole that the Anubis burst made. Loq hurried to his side, her blaster rifle ready. The aperture was maybe two-thirds of a meter in diameter. Around the rim there was a glimmering gold substance that was slowly dissolving the wiring, metal, and insulation. Outside the aperture, blocking the view and effects of space, was the ugly brown Anubis object.  
  
Seth pulled out a test tube and some small tools. "I'm going to get a sample of that chemical," he said. He began to walk towards to aperture when Loq grabbed him by the arm and pushed him back. "What is it?" Seth asked. "What's wrong?"  
  
"That isn't a tracer," Loq responded, her tail lashing.  
  
Dallas glanced at Seth, then hurried up to Loq's side. "Well, I'll be!" he exclaimed. "It's 'ollow!"  
  
"It's not a tracer; it's a transport," Loq said, growling.  
  
"And that means. . . ?"  
  
Before Seth could throw his opinion in, he felt four, sharp objects--much like claws--ripping into his suit and tearing into the skin on his back. He yelped in pain and fell forward. Dallas shrieked and whirled around. Loq pushed Seth to the floor and pressed a foot against the small of his back, standing over him protectively. There were four, large, deep lacerations across his back, yet nothing else was in the hallway. She cocked her rifle, sniffing the air.  
  
Dallas looked from Seth's wounds to Loq. "You didn't do that, did you?" he asked cautiously.  
  
"No! It was something else!" Loq replied, her tone of voice indicating that she was shocked, alarmed, and frightened. A sound from behind them caused Dallas and Loq to spin around, weapons ready. There was nothing. A foreboding presence hung in the air. They were not alone.  
  
The ominous silence was broken by Seth's crying out. "Look out!" he yelled painfully.  
  
Loq and Dallas turned around again to face an Anubis charging towards them. Its lead-colored pelt gleamed in the dim lighting and its golden eyes glowed with hatred. It wore some kind of breastplate over its upper chest. There were various pieces of armor over other parts of its body. On its belt there were unidentifiable pieces of technology. The headpiece it wore looked to be more a decorative thing or status symbol than a helmet. Its pearly teeth gleamed. It was a lot smaller than a typical Anubis warrior, probably a sentry or scout.  
  
Loq fired at it and it stopped. When the blast got within a quarter of a meter of the Anubis, it hit something invisible and disappeared. It made a ripple that revealed a transparent energy shield around the sentry-scout.  
  
"They have shields?!" Dallas shouted in surprise. "This is /not/ good!" He stepped back behind Loq.  
  
The Anubis snarled. It coiled and sprang at Loq, claws out and ready. Loq met it with a swift, powerful kick that connected with the sentry-scout's midriff. There was a loud /snap/ and the Anubis fell back, hitting the floor hard.  
  
"Loq!" Dallas shouted from behind.  
  
Loq whirled around and saw another Anubis bearing down on Dallas. Loq held her rifle by the barrel and brandished it like a club. When the Anubis prepared to jump, Loq swung her rifle. The shield must have been for high-velocity objects, for Loq didn't feel it hinder her swing. The butt of the rifle collided with the side of the Anubis sentry-scout's head, momentum sending it crashing into the bulkhead. It crumpled into a heap on the ground.  
  
Dallas was panting. "It came outta the wall!" he gasped. "I swear it did! I swear to God it did!"  
  
"Watch your language, McKerracher," Seth groaned.  
  
"That's right, we need to get you to a medic, Rev'rend."  
  
A growling sound caused Loq to face the Anubis that she had kicked. It was standing up, holding its midriff. There was a bluish-violet liquid--possibly blood--running down from the side of its mouth. Loq hissed at it, and it snarled back. She brandished her rifle again in a threatening manner. The Anubis stepped back, then jumped towards the bulkhead and seemed to disappear into the wall. Loq blinked. She then realized it went /in/, its location distinguishable by a silhouette a tint darker than the rest of the wall. Loq unsheathed her sword from its sheathe across her back and walked up to the bulkhead where the Anubis was hiding. She drove the blade, which had been sharpened to the microbe, through the position in the wall where the sentry-scout was. When she pulled it out, the Anubis fell from the wall to the ground. Loq sheathed her weapon and walked back over to Dallas and Seth.  
  
The blast doors opened and two other beings in spacesuits stepped in. They were Mekal and Trent, both armed with blaster rifles. Mekal nearly stepped on the dead Anubis. "Whoa!" she exclaimed, breathing heavily into her comm mouthpiece. The sight of the blood and the conclusion that it was dead made her relax. "We . . . we . . . uh . . . heard the commotion over the comm. Zan-Aiden and I came as backup, but we might be a little late."  
  
"Bio-scanner!" Dallas said. "Are there anymore of those things in here?"  
  
Mekal pulled a scanner from her belt and looked at it. "I have our signs, and . . . uh-oh."  
  
"'Uh-oh'?! What's that supposed to mean?"  
  
"Th-there's still one alive in here!"  
  
"Don't worry!" Loq said, kneeling down beside the other Anubis. "This one is still alive. It's unconscious."  
  
"Then kill it," Dallas said. "I'd be 'appy to do it for ya."  
  
"No!" Seth shouted from the floor. "We can use it to study!"  
  
Trent furrowed his brow. "You don't /study/ sentient life-forms like lab rats, you . . . you. . . ."  
  
"You kill 'em," Dallas repeated, flipping out his blaster pistol and spinning it around his finger like a professional gunslinger.  
  
"I agree with Dr. Dai'vade," Loq said. "Analyzing an Anubis might help us determine a weakness."  
  
"I think we should ask the captain," Dallas mumbled, holstering his weapon. "'E'd say to kill it."  
  
"Don't be so sure," Mekal said, crossing her arms.  
  
"What do /you/ think, Commander?" Seth asked.  
  
"I agree with Major Loqr'yl."  
  
"Good! I'll get to it right--" He pulled himself to his feet, but keeled over and cried out in pain.  
  
Trent was at his side supporting him. "You should get to the infirmary, Doctor," he said. "I'll help you down there."  
  
"I need my samples!"  
  
"McKerracher and I will get them," Mekal said. "Major Loqr'yl, get those two Anubis to the science and research lab. Make sure the live one's strapped down or caged or whatever. We don't want that thing getting loose. Zan-Aiden, get Dr. Dai'vade to the infirmary."  
  
Trent helped Seth to the infirmary while Loq threw the two Anubis effortlessly over her shoulders and quickly hustled to the laboratory. Mekal handed Dallas some test tubes and tools from Seth's dropped toolkit. "Get pieces of anything that's Anubis," she said.  
  
Dallas began scraping some of the metal-eating substance from the hull and putting it into the test tube. Mekal leaned carefully into the hole and began to chip away at part of the pod. She put a piece in a small, transparent box. "That's done," she said. "Let's get this stuff to the lab and tell Conner we're ready for repairs."  
  
Conner Solo got right to work on "patching" the aperture before Macon was given the go to blast the pod off. He carried his various tools and supplies, along with a large slab of scrap hull. The hull of the /Sentinel/ was seven centimeters thick with metal, wiring, and insulation. Fortunately there wasn't much wiring where the burst hit, so he wouldn't have to do much fusing. He found that Loq had made her own perforation that would have to be patched as well.  
  
His first action was to cut the metal-eating chemical off so it wouldn't damage the hull any further. The pieces would be jettisoned later, so as not to present a greater problem. He then had to cover the layers in the hull, the piece of scrap being attached from the inside.  
  
Pulling out a cutting laser, he began to cut away the infected metal, insulation, and wiring. He did it very slowly so he wouldn't cut himself.  
  
"Don't cut yourself."  
  
The sound of the voice in his comm made Conner spin around. "Who's there?" he asked, finding the hallway empty.  
  
"It's just me."  
  
"Who's 'me'?"  
  
"You're Conner Solo, of course!" the feminine voice responded, following it with a giggle. "I'm just playing with you. I'm J'ai, the /Sentinel/'s computer artificial intelligence."  
  
"How come I've never met you before?" Conner asked, going back to his work.  
  
"Freyja doesn't like me all that much, so she deactivates me frequently. Jack . . . err . . . Captain Transon figured out how to get me back on."  
  
"What do you do on the ship, exactly?"  
  
"I just manage all the wires, logs, and so on. I do whatever Transon or his crew asks me to do. I'm the ship slave. I used to run everything--the weapons, scanners, system repairs, et cetera--but Transon moved me back now that he has a human crew."  
  
"I've never really encountered a ship that had its own AI. Do they make Gibraltar-class ships with an AI?"  
  
"Well, that's a long story. Jack hates droids; you can tell because there's none on here. I used to be a droid, JI7-7. But I was a human replica droid, so when I met Jack, he thought I was a real person. I helped him repair this ship during the Orgrea wars. When he found out I wasn't flesh-and-blood, he was pretty angry. Then one day I was seriously damaged beyond repair in a firefight. Jack had always liked me, so he extracted my conscience and put it in this ship. I'm someone he likes to talk to. He gets sick of me bugging him all the time to update his technology. He may be a troglodyte, but he has a good heart."  
  
"A troglodyte, eh? That's a new one. You're not afraid of him probing your databanks for this type of stuff, are you?"  
  
"Nope. I insult him all the time. It's pretty funny when we get into arguments. I have recordings, if you wanna hear them."  
  
Conner laughed. "No, thank you."  
  
"Oh! I'm so sorry! You're busy, and I'm rambling my cyberspace head off. I'll leave you be. It was nice talking with you, Mr. Solo."  
  
"Likewise, J'ai."  
  
"From what I observed from these samples, they /were/ organic. It was some large plant that hardens when it dies; it would be the equivalent of steel. The plant's epidermis is twenty cells thick. It has almost no density, so it's very lightweight. It's also very flexible, so it can be made into whatever. My hypothesis is that the plants are given some kind of steroid or a growth hormone like gibberellin so they grow at an alarmingly fast rate. It then can't handle the growth rate, so it dies once it reaches maturity. They're then used to construct the starcraft. Add some shielding, thrusters, and communications technology, and you've got a ship."  
  
"That's just cool," Freyja said. "Wish we could do that."  
  
"Heh," Dallas said with a smirk, "it'll be even cooler when you toss a cigarette and the 'ole thing goes up into flames."  
  
"How you holding up, Doc?" Trent asked.  
  
"Just barely," Seth responded. "Those medications Forsythe gave me are giving me a terrible headache. And my back feels like some vornskr's gnawing on it."  
  
"You sure you can concentrate?" Transon inquired.  
  
"I'll be fine. I've been able to concentrate under more difficult circumstances."  
  
Conner jumped in. "What about that metal-eating stuff?"  
  
"Now that was interesting. It was encased in the core of that golden burst. It's a chemical similar to rust, but it's much faster at breaking down weaker chemicals. It heats up the nucleus of the metallic atoms so that they disintegrate. That would explain why it was 'glowing.' /But/ it's only able to destroy metals or metallics."  
  
"So it don't eat through their plant ships," Dallas added.  
  
"I suppose that /could/ be the case."  
  
"What about the Anubis?" Transon queried from across the laboratory. He stood about three feet away from where an Anubis sentry-scout lay on a table. An energy field surrounded it. "Is it still alive?"  
  
"No."  
  
"No?"  
  
Seth walked over to the table and took down the field. "It /was/ alive. Its injuries weren't lethal enough to kill it. I found this device on its headpiece." He held up a small box that was crushed. The internal structures looked organic, protected by a now-dented metal casing. "When Major Loqr'yl hit it with her rifle, she disabled this device. There is a plant inside here that generates some kind of field that converts oxygen into carbon dioxide so it can breathe. It can also store it if it wants. My guess is that the Anubis engineered it so that the field is larger and it somehow protects anything inside it from high-velocity objects or projectiles. The metal casing, plus some devices inside, sustains the plant.  
  
"I believe the plant was meant to breath oxygen, but the Anubis engineered it to take oxygen and convert it to carbon dioxide.  
  
"The Anubis breath any form of carbon--carbon monoxide, carbon dioxide, carbon trioxide--whatever. This would explain their purplish-blue blood: There's no oxygen in it. They use this carbon storing/converting plant to survive elsewhere besides their carbon-rich environments. Because of this ship's carbon filters, this Anubis didn't survive without its converting device."  
  
"Do you think we could reverse engineer these things so we can use them?" Transon asked thoughtfully.  
  
Seth smiled. "That might just work. I can take the undamaged one and split the nucleus--I believe they reproduce asexually--and use gibberellin or another growth hormone to--"  
  
"Okay, Rev'rend!" Dallas exclaimed. "We get the point! But tell me: 'Ow do these things go into walls?"  
  
"I'm not sure about that one. They could be multi-dimensional, for all we know. There are lots of things in this universe that we have not discovered yet. Speaking of that, I found this on one of the bodies." He pulled out an object that was thick, a greenish-brown color, and had a flat surface. There were white etchings on the surface. Transon took it and the others gathered around.  
  
"It . . . it's a map!" Freyja said. It was an almost-side view of the Milky Way galaxy with certain points drawn in larger proportion. Small dots most likely resembled stars, while larger ones were probably planets. The writing, which was in another dialect, looked like crude, messy scratch-marks.  
  
"That must be earth," Conner said, pointing to an etching that looked like a representation of a solar system on one of the galaxy's arms. "Or someplace with an identical solar system."  
  
"I would this would be the outpost," Transon said, pointing to a marking that looked similar to the outpost ship.  
  
"Would this be a base?" Mekal asked, motioning to a rendering that looked like a bunch of platforms and ships scattered near a station.  
  
"Could be," Transon answered, deep in thought. "But what's this?" Far off the straight-line path between the outpost and the base was several small squares. Some of them looked scratched out, as if erased.  
  
"Dad!" Freyja squeaked. "That's the expedition!"  
  
The others crowded closer. "Well, I'll be!" Dallas said. "'Ow can you be sure?"  
  
"Well, what else could it be? We should at least check it out. Dad?"  
  
"We never know," Transon mused. "It might be a good idea."  
  
"How can you be sure it isn't subterfuge?" Mekal asked dubiously.  
  
"Don't be so pessimistic, Meke," Transon scolded. "Now, the expedition went /under/ the galactic core, and /we/ went to the /left/ of it. If we change course a few degrees, we should be heading in that direction. Macon's already finished getting the pod off, so we're set to go. Freyja, work with J'ai on deciphering that map and set the course. And no sly stuff. Seth, I'm sending Forsythe down here to help you finish up your research. The rest of you, get your things ready. Spacesuits are in the hold. You might need weapons in case any Anubis come back to plunder . . . use anything you can. Blasters won't work with these guys' shields. Then start scheduling talk-show interviews."  
  
Freyja, carrying the slab of lightweight material they dubbed "the map," reluctantly went to the ships main control center, a now secluded area. She hated talking to the /Sentinel/'s loquacious artificial intelligence, but when her surrogate father asked her to do something, she did it. She set the map down on a control panel and inhaled deeply.  
  
"J'ai, you there?" she called. "We have--"  
  
"You don't have to yell," the AI responded rather curtly, the cheerful lilt in her vocal processors gone. "What's up?"  
  
Freyja squirmed. "We found this thing on one of the Anubis scouts that was killed. We think it's a map. And the expedition's on there, too. Dad wants us to set a course."  
  
"Well, what do you need me for?"  
  
"We have to 'decipher' it, like find a key or scale or something so we know what direction to go in."  
  
"Hmm . . . scan it for me."  
  
Freyja took the slab and placed it face-down on a glass-like surface. A light under the surface scanned the map in, then a visual computer rendering of it appeared on a view screen on the wall.  
  
"This is earth, correct?" J'ai asked, an arrow on the screen pointing to something that looked like a solar system.  
  
"That's what we guessed."  
  
"And we're on this arm . . . that looks right. And this is the galactic core, and this must be an Anubis base, right?"  
  
Freyja nodded, then voiced, "Uh, yeah."  
  
"These dots must be the sentries, and this must be the expedition. Let's see." The screen zoomed in with a digital enhancer on the area around the expedition where there were smaller, almost unseen dots. "These would probably be stars, and they're all arranged into constellations. The very noticeable ones are drawn on the map so that they act as landmarks or trail-markers. Those are what you follow. I'll download them into my database and set a course. That work for you?"  
  
Freyja smirked slightly. "Yeah, that'll do. Thanks." 


End file.
